“Not greedy,” said she, gently. “You can’t fairly accuse him of that.”
“Greedy and inquisitive,” repeated the old man, obstinately. “What right has he to come here? He’s not my heir; he’ll never get a penny from me. And he may save himself the trouble of his visits for all he’ll ever get out of Creux.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” said Olwen, with a little demure archness in her tone.
The old man stared at her indignantly.
“What fools girls are!” said he, scornfully. “Don’t you see that he only comes after you because he thinks you’ll have some of my money?”
“Oh, no, he doesn’t. He knows, as I know, what a strong dislike you have taken to him, and we don’t either of us expect anything from you. That doesn’t prevent our wishing to do our duty, and it didn’t prevent him from saving your life. Remember that.”
But the pig-headed old man only growled out,—
“He knew if Vazon had strangled me this afternoon he would have got nothing. And he hoped, by saving my life, to induce me to alter my will.”
The idea that young Bayre should have been influenced by any such sordid motives as he rushed forward to his uncle’s assistance was so absurd that the girl burst out laughing.
“I think you’re a little prejudiced,” she said. “But I won’t tease you about it now. I’ll go and tell him that you’re more afraid of him than the Vazons, and that you don’t wish him to stay in the house.”